Joy in Being
by metacognitive
Summary: Danny offers some unexpected comfort. Or something, he's not actually sure what he's doing. T for safety.


Title: Joy in Being  
Premise: Danny offers some unexpected comfort. Or something, he's not actually sure what he's doing.  
Character(s): Stiles, Danny  
Disclaimer: Not mine!  
Notes: Major AU in which Stiles is a girl. This universe is open to more pieces, though this is the first completed. I imagine a fem!Stiles to resemble a cross of Ellen Page and Erin Wasson. Takes place in Season 2. Please review before favoriting!  
Warnings for teenage sexuality. If slash/femslash is not your thing, I suggest not reading this, because both characters here identify as members of the LGBTQ community.

* * *

they should have warned you  
when things start splitting at the seams and now  
the whole thing's tumbling down  
_band of horses_

* * *

By the time Danny gets to the front door, the louder-than-necessary knocking has stopped. When he checks the peephole, however, he can still see the delicate outline of a gangly girl, and he opens the door widely to see who it is. There are crazy killings going on, and he'd rather not have them find a victim on his family's doorstep—no doubt he knows this girl, maybe a friend, and the drama with Jackson doesn't need to be intensified with more murders. Then again, just from the shadowed figure before him, he's pretty sure he knows who it is.

The girl looks up when she sees Danny through the storm door, making the motion-sensor light flick back on to illuminate one Stiles Stilinski. Surprise. She's not bad looking, he'll admit it, but it's hard to see past all the over-sized clothes and curly hair. He hasn't seen her in awhile—she's been in and out of classes, of course, masquerading around town with Scott and Derek Hale, while he's been lying low since the club incident. Derek Hale, actually, is a whole other story. Danny wants to smack himself to think he was so distracted by abs to not recognize him as the murder-suspect he had been; he wonders whether or not he and Stiles actually ended up becoming a thing.

He's saved from further thought when Stiles, moles and all, says awkwardly, "Danny, uh, hi."

Danny raises an eyebrow at her, one arm braced on the doorframe. A pointed glance at his watch—something Jackson got him, expensive, reading just past eight—makes her blush, biting at her mouth like she always does, and stuff her hands in her jeans' pockets. Today she's wearing jeans only a size or two too big, an improvement over the cargo pants she usually sports, and a white tank top beneath a red flannel. Danny's almost surprised to see she's got curves beneath all that clothes; then again the wind has seemed to have skewed how her outfits usually swallow her up.

"It's eight o'clock, Stiles," he says, but the heat in his voice isn't real, not really. He wonders if maybe she'll tell him anything about what's been going on lately, holds his breath with hope.

"Yeah, I know," she says, and they stand there a split-second longer, the wind chilling them, before she blurts out, "I told my dad I was lesbian—and he didn't believe me." She falls silent, staring at the ground, and Danny can feel the pain radiate off her, even while he lurches with surprise.

Sure, there were rumors, but no more than the ones that had surrounded her and Scott's relationship. If he was being honest, he'd even admit to believing that the two of them had been dating at one point; for as long as Danny had known the two of them they'd been a package deal regardless of what a person was asking for. Sure he'd seen Scott go on a date or two freshman year, but ultimately it was always the Stiles-and-Scott show, up until Allison showed up. And even with her alleged obsession with Lydia Martin, it always came off more as idolatry, like Stiles needed something pretty and girlish to look up to. But that's just cruel.

"I," he starts, mouth half open, and her head snaps back up to him, wide brown eyes searching his beseechingly. He swears and steps back into the hallway while shaking his head. "Come in, Stiles, it's cold out," he says on a sigh, and she steps in eagerly, flannel whipping against her as the wind picks up.

Again he's caught off guard by her—she'd be able to pull of being 'pretty' if she'd only start dressing appropriately. He can see the narrowness of her waist beneath the swell of her breasts, and from what he can see her arms are as slender as her legs, swathed in denim as they are. She tugs her shirt loose from where it's pressed tightly against her, and if she catches him watching her she doesn't say anything about it. It's quiet between them for so long that he actually jumps when he remembers his manners, catching Stiles' eye awkwardly when he ducks into the kitchen.

"Do you want anything to drink?" he says, right arm reaching for the fridge, and she just shrugs. "Water?" he tries again, and she gives him a tight smile, half rolling her eyes.

"Sure, Danny," she says, and he frowns. He doesn't like the idea of her humoring him.

"You can, uh, sit down on the couch," Danny tells her, and her eyes slide away from him as she nods. Once she's out of the room he gives himself a split-second to just think. Stiles was—was lesbian, she'd just told him. And if she'd only just told her dad…so maybe she'd just come to terms with it, due to the risk of being targeted by the murderer? Or something? But regardless of how long she'd been able to identify herself, it's possible that not even Scott knows. Scott may be her best friend but she's always been one to put her father first. And she said, she said that the Sheriff hadn't believed her. And Danny was the closest person to her who she knew was out. She swears under his breath as he grabs glasses for them, the water from the fridge chilling them in his hand. His parents had been more accepting than he had ever imagined when he told them; honestly, he couldn't imagine anyone not believing someone when it came to their sexuality. It was just…wrong, somehow, and Danny couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Hey," he says when he enters the living room. Stiles is half-curled up on one of the living chairs, opposite the end of the couch he _knows _it's obvious he was sitting in. She's trying to get as far from him as possible, which makes sense and yet it doesn't, because she came to see him, didn't she? But she gives him a tight smile when he sits down on the end closest to her, the ottoman pressed up against her foot where she's got her legs crossed awkwardly. He hands her the water and she takes one squirrelly sip, before setting it down on the coffee table. He follows suite a few moments later, after he's taken a significantly calmer drink, and then they're staring at each other.

Stiles' hands are tangled together with the sleeves of that red flannel she's always wearing, and her hair looks more disheveled than usual. Her eyes are wide and, Danny looks closely, she seems scared. Scared of herself, he doesn't know, but it's not a good look for her. And that makes him feel guilty, even if he knows that nothing is his fault.

"So," he says, and she nods. "So," she repeats, and twiddles her thumbs. Danny lets a breath out through his nose. Guess he'll have to jump right in, he thinks, and goes, "You're lesbian."

She winces, which, bad sign, and leans forward, untangling her legs in the process. She puts an elbow on each knee, keeping her eyes on him and says, "Yeah. I'm. I'm lesbian. Girls and. And all that, yeah. Um, yeah." Danny just looks at her, and she bites her lips before continuing. "My dad didn't…he said to be serious, that making things up just to, I don't know, try and change the subject? That it isn't right, or whatever. Like," and she sighs heavily. Her fingers are linked together, arms dangling over her legs, and Danny hears more than sees the way her chest heaves, her breath catching in her throat. One of her hands goes to her face, to block him from seeing maybe or perhaps to wipe away a tear.

"Hey," he says, and moves from the couch to the ottoman, pulling it up close to her to grab her hands. When she looks up at him she sees her eyes shining wetly, and he swipes a thumb over one of the palms in his grip. She lets out a choked laugh before continuing.

"He said…he said to not make up excuses for my behavior," and she rolls her eyes. Danny can recognize those angry tears; Jackson had the same problem up until high school started, and that, well, that seemed to come with a whole different set of issues. Stiles continues, "He doesn't believe me. I mean. I guess we've joked about it before, a bit, with the whole Lydia thing and maybe even with Allison, so maybe it—"

"That doesn't," Danny interrupts, and her eyes move from where she's been staring at the red-and-white patterns of the carpet to fasten to his gaze. Her eyes are a startling light brown, but there are dark bags beneath them, her eyelashes clumped together. One eyebrow is mussed, hair sticking up towards her forehead. It looks like she's been running in the rain all night, even if she's had a few minutes to dry in Danny's living room. "That doesn't," he says again, "excuse anything. If you came out to him…you needed someone to trust, and it's not okay that he wasn't there for you. That's just as bad as him saying your feelings are wrong."

Stiles sniffs, glancing about the room again, and Danny tightens his grip on her fingers. Her hands are too cold, and she notices his frown. She gives a shy grin. "Bad circulation," she says, and then quieter, "just like my mom." Danny looks at her and squeezes her hand again.

Hesitant, he finally says, "My parents believed me. And it didn't make it easier, telling them, but it made me feel better. I had someone to talk to, finally. It wasn't like, a deep dark secret in me anymore. It was just…truth. A fact. A part of life you couldn't—can't—take away."

Stiles shuffles her feet a bit and then asks, "So, what, am I _lying_ then?" Her voice is harder, and Danny keeps his grip on her firm to keep her from running out without letting him finish. He's known Stilinski for years; her habit of running out during Chemistry tests isn't a unique development.

He gives a frustrated sigh. Tonight's one of those nights, it appears. "No," he says, "that's not what I'm saying. It's. You're not lying, you're telling _your_ truth. But the sheriff—your dad. He can't see that."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow; "You have to see to believe, huh?"

"You're his _daughter_," Danny says helplessly, "you tell me. I don't—I don't know anything about you, Stiles, how would I know what your dad sees when he looks at you?"

"He sees my mother," she says after a long moment, and they lock eyes, hands still clutched in each other's.

"And you're not," he tells her, and it makes her back straighten, her eyes focus. He says, again, with more fervor than he expected, "You're not your mother, Stiles, and no one should expect you to be. You're. Well, you're pretty weird, to be honest," and it makes her actually laugh, eyes shining with tears again though they're accompanied with a smile, "and, I mean. I don't know. You're smart and brave, for telling your dad the truth. And for telling me, too. I don't. Don't know what else you want."

"That's okay," she says, a bit of cheerfulness in her voice, "I don't either." Danny lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. At least they're on the same page.

"Okay," he says, and slowly lets go of her hands. She tucks them under her thighs once they're free, and he straightens from where he's been slouched on the dark brown ottoman. There's an awkward silence now, because he's not sure if she's gotten what she needed from him at this point. He stands, pushing the ottoman away and taking his mostly full glass of water in hand. But he's got a question.

"So…you and Derek Hale aren't sleeping together?" and he almost laughs at the horror on her face.

"Oh my _God_," she says, mouth stretched into a half-open frown, "no! Ugh. He's. _Ugh_, no."

Danny feels a grin tugging at his mouth; "He was naked in your room."

"He was missing a shirt," she says, rolling her eyes, "Scott's been legit butt-naked in my bed and no one's ever said anything." And then she sees the twisted look on Danny's face and groans. "_Please_, no, he's like my _brother._"

"Sorry?" Danny tries, and she stands up too, grabbing her own water. He's almost forgotten she's just a few inches shorter than he is. And despite being a (second-string) field hockey player, she's as scrawny as she's always been, all long legs and bony wrists. He wonders what, exactly, it is that the Sheriff sees when he looks at her. Wonders why he couldn't be the one to tell Stiles that it was _okay_, who she is and how she feels.

After they've both put their glasses in the sink she stuffs her hands in her pockets, scuffing her toes on the kitchen's floor. Danny leans against one of the counters; his shirt is scrunched up behind him, but he takes a moment to just look at Stiles again. He won't say he dislikes her, but he can't really say he likes her, either. She can be as nasty as she is nice, occasionally, but she's never done anything against him, so. And like he's already said, he doesn't know her. It's weird.

"Well," she says finally, "thanks. For um, letting me in unannounced? And for. I don't know, giving me a pep talk or whatever." She smiles, "I appreciate it."

She's really pretty when she smiles, Danny realizes, and before he thinks it over, asks, "Do you wanna stay for a bit longer? I was just going to watch TV."

She looks startled, opening her and closing her mouth before finally settling on, "Um, you sure? I can just head home. I drove here, so uh. Don't worry about me getting caught out in the rain or anything."

Danny winces when he remembers the killings going on, shakes his head; "No, stay. I'll make popcorn."

She smiles delicately, "If—if that's what you want, sure." He rolls his eyes at her, already reaching for the Orville's.

"It is," he tells her, and she falls silent, staying that way even as the settle on the big couch, albeit at opposite sides. Lesbian, he thinks, Stiles Stilinski. He imagines her with some dark-haired beauty, realizes it seems right in a way she and Scott never did, and then steals a glance at where Stiles is flipping through channels.

"Do you care what we watch?" she says after a moment, and he steals the remote, says, "Wait, I love this show," and both focus on the television.

"You were totally staring at my boobs earlier, by the way," Stiles says after they've been sitting together a long while, already finishing up their second episode of Hawaii-Five-0. Danny rolls his eyes.

"I didn't realize they _existed_," he stresses, and she looks over at him, eyes shining and her eyebrows doing something suggestive.

"Did you enjoy the view?" she says, grinning, and he's tempted to throw a pillow at her.

"I'm going to kick you out."

"Yeah, okay," she says, and turns back to the TV with a pillow in her lap, still smiling. Danny's ashamed to say it's one of the better nights he's had in awhile.

.

.

.


End file.
